


Fall For You

by LadyThomasSharpe



Category: Actor RPF, British Actor RPF, Romantic Fantasy-RPF, Tom Hiddleston RPF
Genre: F/M, Rough Sex, Strangers to Lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-10
Updated: 2019-03-10
Packaged: 2019-11-15 06:40:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18068483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyThomasSharpe/pseuds/LadyThomasSharpe
Summary: Taking your morning run, you come upon an injured man -- and end up giving Tom Hiddleston a little first aid. He wants to repay you by cooking you dinner. And whatever "comes up" in the conversation.





	Fall For You

**Author's Note:**

  * For [smviolinfan95](https://archiveofourown.org/users/smviolinfan95/gifts).



> A special request from my "sister" Sam. This one's for you, love. I hope it pleases you.

 

_Holy cow! Who is that tall, gorgeous drink of water? I’d love to climb that tree._

You continue doing your squats to warm up those leg muscles, but you’re far more interested in the tall, lean, muscular man unfolding himself out of the small sports car. Once he’s fully out on the parking lot beside the car, you stop your stretches, watching him. Admiring him. Even with the baggy sweatpants he’s wearing, you can see a very sexy ass. When he steps out of the pants, tossing them into the car, you get the true scope of that behind. It’s all you can do to keep from walking up to get a handful. Those legs are strongly muscled. So is his back. The brown curls on his head touch his shoulders, the kind of thing that makes your fingers itch to reach out and touch someone.

He shuts his car door and you hear the cheerful chirp of the locking mechanism. He never turns around, damn it. You’re full of curiosity to see what his face looks like. There’s something rather familiar about that man. The way he does his own warm ups. The way he saunters to the trail head. Taking the first sip from his water bottle. Then, taking the first step to run off on the trail. And all you can do is wipe the corners of your mouth where you are drooling a bit.

_That man is_ definitely _‘lining up to be a hot lunch’. And I’m starving._

He’s very quickly out of your sight and you feel a pang of disappointment. With a deep sigh, you finish your own warm up, step out of your own sweat suit and drop it into the back seat of your baby, the black Porsche convertible. You attach your cellphone to the strap on your upper arm, make sure that the laces of your shoes are firmly tied, pick up your water bottle, and make your way to the trail head.

_With any luck, I’ll find you, you sexy beast. I want to know what you look like. I want to know why you’re so familiar. And I want to fuck you like that proverbial animal, baby._

You shake your head at yourself. “Will you listen to me,” you mutter to yourself. “I need serious help. He’s probably the biggest jerk on the planet and here I am talking about bumping uglies with the guy. Yeah, I need help.”

With a deep sigh, you take off. Running as if you just _might_ find him again. Running in the mild chill of the morning. Running among the firs and pines, the aspens and spruce. The great thing about a spring morning is not having to deal with the terrible heat. But mostly because of the smells and sounds of the trail. The shrubs and plants that will soon flower, covering the ground and filling in around the trees with the colors of spring. The return of the green that signals nature’s waking up from the long slumber of winter. The birds in their nests with their babies hatching. Life returning.

You let your mind quiet down, turning on your favorite music, and let your body do what it must. Taking the quickened steps and enjoying the peace and serenity of the trail. Your favorite. The first mile is done before you know it. Starting the second mile. Starting to sweat a little despite the morning chill.

Something catches your attention. Someone rolling on the ground up ahead, clutching an ankle. You quickly pull your earbuds out and reach up to turn off the music. You hear the sound of moans ahead and realize, it’s that gorgeous man you saw in the parking lot. You break out into a full run, to get to him as quickly as possible. The unmistakable sounds of a man in deep pain. When you get closer, you see the pothole in the asphalt and quickly realize what happened.

“Oh God,” you hear, the man still clutching his ankle. “Fuck.”

“It’s okay,” you say as you reach him. You kneel beside him, his back still toward you. “It’s okay. Turn over and let me look at that.”

“Are you a doctor?” he asks as he turns onto his back.

You’ve already moved down to his ankle. It’s starting to swell. His foot too. “No, but I know first aid and I think you need it. I better get this shoe off before the swelling makes it impossible. This might hurt a little.”

“Do it,” he says in a very delicious British accent.

The accent alone is enough to make your lady parts start tingling, your cherry throbbing a bit. That voice is chocolate and scotch, melty and sensual. _Come on, woman, pay attention_. You get the laces of the very expensive running shoe undone and manage to get it spread as wide open as you can. He gasps between gritted teeth, hissing slightly.

_Yeah, I know. It hurts. I’m trying. I promise._ But you ease the shoe off and lay it to the side.

“Well, it doesn’t _look_ like anything’s broken,” you say to him, trying to sound reassuring. But you can’t lie. “But you need to get to a hospital. At best, you’ve got a wicked bad sprain. At worst, you’ve broken a bone in your foot or your ankle.”

“Fuck,” he mutters again, then seems to think better of it. “Sorry. I don’t usually curse in front of ladies. Or people I don’t know.”

You pick up the shoe again, to slip it under his heel. Give him a little padding to support his foot and ankle. You need something to immobilize it. “Please,” you say with a chuckle. “Trust me, I’ve heard worse language than that where I work.”

“Where’s that?” He’s trying to distract himself from the pain.

“I run a gym here in town.” You look around, trying to find something to keep him from flexing his foot. “Don’t move your foot, okay? It’ll just make things worse.”

“Trust me,” he says, gritting his teeth again. “I don’t know how it could get worse. This hurts more than you can possibly imagine.”

“Oh, I can imagine a lot of pain,” you answer. You see exactly what you need. Something that will work. “Lie still,” you tell him and go pluck the long piece of cloth that’s been wrapped around a tree branch. You’re not exactly sure what it was for, or what the cloth originally was, but you see it and you can use it. You bring it back and kneel down again, finally looking up into the pale, pain filled face of….

_Tom Hiddleston? Ho…ly…cow._

He must see it on your face because he rolls his eyes and sighs in resignation. “Damn, I liked it better when you didn’t know.”

You do everything you can to blank your face. You give him a small smile and turn your attention back to his ankle. “Hey, give me a chance here, okay? Not all of us are like that. Besides, your ankle is a bit more important. Deal?”

“Deal,” he answers and relaxes. “Thank you for this.”

“Of course.” You tear the long strip of cloth, lengthwise, into three strips and begin to bind his ankle. Being careful not to bind it too tightly. “I’m just going to immobilize your ankle and foot here, then I’ll call 9-1-1 and get a squad out here.”

“Fu—” He catches himself before saying it again. “I’ve got a scene this afternoon. I can’t have my damned foot in a cast. I can’t have this.”

“I’d heard you were doing a movie,” you tell him, trying again to keep him talking. He’s sweating mildly. That usually means shock. “What’s it about?”

“Oh, um…. Well, it’s a bit of an action film. Spy sort of thing.”

“You get to be the hero?”

His smile is small, but it lights up his face. “I do. I like being the villain, but I love being the hero.”

You manage to get the binding tied so that it’ll hold long enough to get him to the hospital. “I think you make a great hero. I saw _The Night Manager_ and thought you were brilliant.” You stick the earbud with the microphone in it back into your ear and make the quick phone call to the emergency services. You tell them where you are, what’s happened, and what you think might be wrong. The operator says a squad will be there immediately. You disconnect the call and sit down on the ground beside him.

“Darling, you have impeccable taste, then.” He takes your hand in his, gentle and strong. “Thank you.”

You smile in return, looking into those beautiful blue-green eyes. “You are most welcome.”

“Gym, eh?”

“Only one in town,” you tell him. “I’ve got the corner on the health market.”

He chuckles. “Beautiful _and_ a smart ass. I like that.”

You laugh, suddenly warmed that he thinks you’re beautiful. “Flattery will get you everywhere, Hiddy. Keep that up and I’ll have to make dinner or something for you. That’ll cure the hero worship real fast.”

“Hiddy? I like that too.” The pain must be easing because his face has gained a little color. “Why? Can’t cook?”

“I can’t even boil water,” you tell him.

Tom manages to raise up on his elbows. “Beautiful, a smart ass, and can’t cook.”

You raise one finger, winking as you do. “I can’t make a meatloaf, but I can make reservations.”

He manages a laugh, a hearty and musical sound that belies the pain. “Darling, I think I’m in love.”

You roll your eyes, shaking your head. “Flirt.”

“I am.” He manages to sit up. “That feels better. Look, I have to thank you in _some_ way.”

“No, you don’t. I couldn’t leave you on the ground like that. That would be very unchristian.”

“Yes, you could’ve,” he insists. “You know, I can cook a little. How about I cook _you_ dinner some night.” It’s a statement of fact, not a question.

He’s still holding your hand. Tom Hiddleston is still holding your hand and whatever is injured and hurting—contrary to his protests that it doesn’t—he’s not letting go. The conversation completely stops as he waits for your answer. And he’s serious about this. God, you could so fall in love with this man. That voice. Those eyes. That body! And a gentleman who apologizes for swearing in your presence because he thinks you’re a lady. No wonder practically every woman alive wants to ride that man like an unbroken stallion. You’d practically bend over backwards if he were _your_ lover. But he’d never be interested in you. Not _you_. Not in _this_ lifetime, anyway.

_Which is too damn bad, beautiful man. I could be good for you. I would be so good for you. Care for you. Want your happiness. Want you to have everything you could ever want. I could love you._

“You’re going to be on your back for a while, Hiddy. And I doubt you’re going to remember me.”

“I’ll remember you,” he says. “I will absolutely remember you. Well, I will when you tell me your name.”

That earns another giggle from you. Yeah, you did forget to tell him that. So, you tell him now and he smiles, repeating it. Just as the paramedics come up, wheeling the gurney. You let go of his hand and step back out of the way. One of the medics compliments you on the great job you did immobilizing his ankle and foot. They put a pressure bandage over the binding and then help Tom up onto the gurney. You walk by the side, holding his hand again.

“You’ll come see me in the hospital?”

You give his hand a friendly squeeze. “You won’t be there long enough. You’ll be in and out.”

“Will I see you again?” He won’t let go of your hand now.

“I don’t know. If you want.”

He speaks your name again and kisses the back of your hand, then releases it as they load him into the back of the squad. “I’ll remember you,” he insists. “I’ll see you again. I promise. And I’ll be making you dinner.”

“You just take care of that ankle,” you tell him. Feeling that bit of regret at having to say goodbye. “And I’ll be looking for the movie.”

The paramedics close up the doors but not before you hear him say once more, “I’ll find you. I’ll remember you. I promise.”  


***

 

Talk about one of the most frustrating days you’ve had in a very long while. And you could have gone a lot longer without another one. You dump the bra as soon as you walk in your front door, then change into your favorite extra-large tee shirt—the one with the cute little puppy on the front—and a comfy pair of short shorts. You step up to the sideboard and make yourself a sloe gin fizz and flop down on the sofa. Only then does your frustration and tension ease as the drink does its thing. Only then are you able to leave the work day behind.

Damn, you’re hungry and, in your hurry to get home, you forgot to stop for something to eat. Cooking is out of the question, so there’s carry out and delivery. But, in this small town, there aren’t many choices. There’s the usual burger joints, but that would require you to put on clothes to go get one. _Nope!_ Delivery? Well, there’s pizza. And then there’s pizza. And _maybe_ Chinese. But then, there’s pizza. You can’t decide. Not really in the mood for pizza but not wanting to go back out. And that Chinese place is not an option—their food is far too salty and greasy. The knock on the door is a welcome relief from the dilemma and the decision you’re going to have to make. You take one last sip from your drink and go to answer the door.

The shock knocks any sense of hunger, or what to eat, completely out of your head when you see Tom standing there. Dressed casually in a pair of black, form fitting jeans and a royal blue polo shirt, he carries two full plastic grocery bags in one fist while holding a bottle of wine in the other. His smile is shy, the blue-green eyes twinkling.

“I looked you up in the phone directory. I hope you don’t mind.”

“But…but…,” you sputter. “You…how…?”

“You said you owned the only gym in town. I called them and asked to speak to you, but they said you were busy and couldn’t talk. They did, however, tell me your full name. So, I looked you up and found your address.” He holds up the bags and bottle. “I said I would cook you dinner.”

You know you wanted to see him again. The last two weeks, all you’ve thought about is Tom Hiddleston. That beautiful face. That smile, even in his pain. Looking at that smile right now, you’re overcome with a deep desire to kiss him. And not only because he just rescued you from the usual cookie cutter carry out, but because he intrigues you. You want to get to know him. And you’re majorly attracted to him _._

_Oh, yeah_ , _I am. I really am. He’s beautiful, inside and out._

“Well?” he says.

“Huh?”

His shy smile turns into a full on grin. “May I come in? Make you dinner?”

“Oh. Yes. _Yes._ Yes, please!”

You step back out of the way and he brings the bags in. You point his way into the kitchen, admiring that view. The one in those jeans of that gorgeous runner’s butt. Tom saunters along as if he knows you’re checking him out and sets right in on preparing dinner.

“How’s your ankle?” you ask. You have to fill the silence with _something._

“Foot, actually,” he cheerfully replies, setting out the groceries. “Doctor said I broke a small bone. They’ve got me in this soft cast for another week or two.” He holds it up for you to see. “I can’t run—for now—But at least I’m filming. At least I can do that. And there’s always a body double for the action things. Until I’m mended.”

“That’s great.” And now you’re screwed. You have nothing else to say. Fortunately, you don’t need anything. He babbles about the filming, who’s in the movie with him. Talking about the trivia and such. While you help him with the pans and utensils. And listen. Wondering if he can actually cook or not. You’ve heard the stories.

Turns out he’s not _totally_ inept in that area. By the time all is said and done, Tom serves up a very beautiful orange glazed salmon, a tossed salad with a homemade vinaigrette, and a spicy rice pilaf. Forcing yourself to eat it slowly is almost torture. Every bite that goes into your mouth is a new sensation of flavor. The fork sliding out between your closed lips as you suck every drop of tasty goodness from the tines. Licking your lips to get every remnant of the taste left behind. Your eyes close so that you can focus on the morsel in your mouth, humming with delight. Chewing slowly.

You notice him watching you, a look that seems to convey more than just amusement. “Mmm, this is so good,” you tell him. And then take the next bite. If this salmon were a person, you’d want to be making love to it. _Him!_

The burning tapers in the candelabra give everything a warm glow. With the other lights out, the area immediately around you is lit up, making the space intimate. Making the look on his face…. Desiring? Passionate? Is he feeling what you’re feeling? No one’s talking now. You’re just watching each other eat. He tucks one finger in his mouth, sucking glaze from it. He runs that finger over his plate, then holds it to his mouth. Tom’s tongue darts out from between closed lips to lick the sweet orange stickiness away. You tingle again. Your shorts are a bit constricting now, and you want out of them. The tee shirt is just a little too scratchy, lightly abrading your skin…and not in a good way.

_I want you. I want you now._

He takes the plates away to bring back a luscious dessert—a slice of chocolate pound cake, soaked in sweetened heavy cream. Served with a scoop of coffee ice cream. A criss-cross of stripes, alternating between chocolate sauce and salted caramel on top. You put your spoon down into the ice cream, getting a small bit of the cake. You enjoy the cake but the ice cream. Ah yes, the ice cream. The bowl of the spoon disappears into your mouth, and you pull it out, licking off a layer of the cold treat. Making it disappear in small licks. Thinking how much you’d love to paint his manhood in that ice cream.

Tom seems to be mesmerized by it. He can’t stop staring at you, it seems. “You…live alone?”

“Yeah.”

“Not married?”

“Nope. Single and happy.”

There it is. That face, his Loki face. He dips the bowl of his own spoon in the ice cream, licking it like a cone. “Now that’s a bloody shame. How’ve you managed to evade that particular institution?”

You meet his gaze with a steady one of your own. The game is on. “Just lucky, I guess. I never know if it’s a case of not finding anyone _I_ want. Or not finding anyone who wants _me_.”

His eyes grow darker in the candlelight, shadows playing over his face. “Their loss either way, darling.”

“Think so?” You take another bite of the dessert. Never looking away. “I see you’re not wearing a top knot.”

Tom tilts his head to the side, one eyebrow raised.

“Not married either? No girlfriend?”

“No. Too busy, married to the career. All that rot.” He takes a sip of his tea. “You?”

“I get bored easy. Or they do.”

Tom drains his mug, then notices that your mug is empty as well. He pours another small slug of the brandy into your cups and fills them with the rest of the tea. “I hate being bored. Variety is the spice of life, they say.”

“In bed, too?” You push your hair back from your shoulders. That brandy is making you far bolder than you should be. And you don’t care. Neither of you ever need lay eyes on each other again. “Does that apply to all of your life? Or just certain parts of it?”

“All of it. Every part.” He winks, a slow and mischievous one. “None of that same old vanilla for me.”

You lick your bottom lip, pulling it between your teeth for a moment before releasing it. “Vanilla is nice, but I love the exotic flavors, myself.”

“Exactly.”

The desserts finished, you stand. You have this sense that you are in way over your head. He’s flirting. Oh God, yes, he’s flirting. But you can’t back down now. You walked into this with both eyes open, but somehow knowing that he’s seriously into the game makes it a bit more exciting. And a little frightening. No one’s ever been this up-front with you before. _You’re_ usually the aggressor. You gather the dishes.

“Did I say something wrong?” He’s unsure, the eyes hooded.

You put his dish back down on the table to rest your palm against his cheek. “No. You didn’t,” you tell him. “You said everything right. I just want to make sure it’s what you really want.”

Tom catches your hand and presses his cheek against it. “Trust me. It is.” He kisses your palm. “I’m attracted to you. And not just out of gratitude. You are…beautiful. There’s something about you that…. But, if it’s not what you want….”

 “There will be no cold feet now, Hiddy. I’m going to put the dishes in to soak and then…we’ll see who’s coming out on top.”

You take the dishes to the sink, running the hot water and adding the soap. He pushes his chair back, the legs scraping on the floor, and a second later, you feel him cozy up to you from behind.

“Am I moving too fast?” he whispers. “I have this fantasy I built up in my head. I dreamed about you. I kept seeing you everywhere, half expecting you to show up on the set.”

“I, uh….” You don’t turn around. He’s pressing his hips against your ass, his cock already fairly erect against it. “I…kept expecting you to show up at the gym.”

You feel his lips at your neck, his teeth nibbling your earlobe. A nip on your shoulder. You squeal as his teeth bite down a little harder. Not something you expected. Not from him anyway.

Tom reaches around to pull up the front of your tee shirt, slipping one hand inside of your shorts. The hand moves down to cup your pussy and just rests there. He bites you again, the same place, warming his hand against your slippery labia. You sigh, vocalizing your desire for more. Feeling your clit get harder against the heel of his hand. “God.”

“Maybe I should be sure _you’re_ ready for this.”

You grind your cheeks against his cock, pressing firmly, and feeling his shaft grow even harder. “I’m…ready. Bite me again. Harder. Mark me.”

His teeth clamp down in the sensitive place under your left ear, sucking hard enough to leave a bruise there tomorrow. His hand between your thighs moves slowly, pressing against the pounding nub. He reaches under the tee shirt to take one breast, a firm grip with the other hand. Thumbing your nipple. Pinching it. You groan loudly, that sound practically coming from your belly. Where the heat of your blood pounding is starting to spread. You reach behind you to grab his ass and squeeze it. Firm and ripe, God, his ass is beautiful. Another groan escapes your lips.

“Bed,” Tom demands. “Now.”

“Oh…God. Yes, now.”

He whirls you around to dig his shoulder into your hips, lifting you up. He reaches over to turn off the running water in the sink. “Where?”

“Up the steps,” you mutter through yet another groan. “First door on the left.”

You shut your eyes as he carries you up the steps, the floor downstairs falling away. You wrap your arms around his ribs, praying he doesn’t drop you. And he doesn’t. There’s something about this nasty boy side of him that excites you. He always seems so cultured in public, well spoken, so romantic. Wearing his suits as if he invented them.

And yet there is something so dangerous about him, something underneath that, maybe, only you can see. He never walks; he _saunters_. He strides as if he owns the world and everything in it. He knows. He knows that power he has, and he does everything to promote it, even as he denies it. You try to speak; he slaps your ass to make sure you know he’s in charge. When he tosses you to the bed, you look up to see a face that he never shows the rest of the world.

And God, it makes you hot. Hard. Wet.

Not another word is spoken between you. He covers you with his body, kissing you hard. Claiming your mouth. He straddles your legs, pulling you up roughly. The tee shirt is jerked up over your head and gone. Tom pushes you back, deep kisses. Thorough kisses. You tug at his polo, practically ripping it from his body. He raises his arms and the shirt joins yours on the floor. You lie together, breasts to chest, more kisses filled with passion and lust. Raking your nails on his back, leaving your own marks. He grunts into your mouth with one particularly hard rake against his skin, but he doesn’t stop you.

You push him over on his back, mouths glued together, and manage to capture his hands. Grasping his wrists, you push his arms up over his head. The only thing separating your bodies right now is the cloth between you. Your shorts and his jeans. That doesn’t stop you from grinding your pussy into his crotch, rolling your hips as if you were pulling his dick inside. Rubbing your clit against the stiffened cloth, his rigid cock. It fits nicely in the folds of your pussy, even through your shorts. But you want them off. They’re getting wet and there’s that uncomfortable feeling of being too tight.

Tom holds your hips, his eyes now closed. His lips parted and he pants as he holds on for dear life. You grind harder and he moans now, moaning your name. Moaning his need. He pushes down on your hips, the pressure is maddening on your soft, tender parts. You press down harder, and he utters the only word either of you will speak for a while.

“Fuck. Oh fuck!”

Exactly what you were thinking. You dismount this man with his horse cock, sliding off the same way until you kneel at his side. Unbutton the waistband, your hand inside to keep the zipper from hurting that manly beast he hides under the cover of the denim. He raises his hips to give you the ease of sliding the jeans down his thighs. Another one for the pile on the floor.

He tries to sit up, but you rudely push him back down onto the bed. More of a shove than a push, you think with a certain amount of satisfaction. Two can play that game and you’re rather accomplished at it. But so is he and that makes you want him more. This time, you straddle his chest, facing away from those eyes that see inside of you. Facing that monster between his legs. You lower down until your belly rests against his. That beast of his is hard as steel, raised and oh so angry. Blood red and smelling of raw meat and musk.

Taking the shaft in one hand, you cradle his balls with the other. Tom exhales sharply, taking the cheeks of your buttocks in his strong, lithe hands. Squeezing them. It spurs you on to run your tongue over the soft foreskin that covers the head. Blow on it. Love the feel of his body as it shivers. Using only your lips, you push it down, tasting that first greyish pearl of the precum that appears. The taste of his seed is also musky, meaty, and mushroomy. You suck lightly, a fleshy straw to drink what you can of it. Slowly taking as much as you can into your mouth, swallowing it as far as you can. Your head rising and falling on it. Gripping the base of it, squeezing as he squeezes your ass.

He slaps your buttock again, then pulls at your hips. Pulling then until you lie flat against his chest. His tongue is velvety against the folds of your pussy, tasting you. Gurgling in the back of your throat, you swallow the full length of his dick down and lightly scrape your teeth against the shaft as you pull it out of your throat. What he’s doing is distracting you. The feel of that tongue as it rasps against your cherry, as he sucks you. Oh God, how he sucks you. You feel the trickle of your orgasm as it runs down into his mouth, over his cheeks and chin. He wets two fingers from that trickle, and they go inside of you. A finger bang.

You growl in the back of your throat and take that horse cock back into your mouth. Teeth against the sensitive skin and he gasps at the feel of it. Not hard, but he knows a little pain. Just enough to know who’s really in command here. He doesn’t stop the finger bang. Rubbing inside of you. Rubbing harder until his fisted fingers make contact against your cherry again, pounding your clit until you want to climax again. You are so close.

Enough. _Enough. I want…I want…._

Tom tries to stop you, but you wriggle out of his grasp, turning around to pull that hard as a rock shaft inside of you. Wet and hot from his tongue, his fingers, and your release. Dripping down over his thatch of brown, curly hair. You press your hands against his shoulders, bending forward to make it easier for your hips to roll. And roll them, you do. Hard. Hard enough to make your breasts bobble. Close to his face. His hands on them now, two fingers still wet with your juices. Grasping those breasts and sucking them. His face red and he’s gasping for air from the exertion. His hips strain against yours. His cock going so deep that you think it’s going to burst up into your mouth. Filling you up.

With a jerk, he’s overcome you. Turning you over and ignoring the squeal as he does it. You lie flat on your back as he continues to pound inside of you. Your legs wrap around that butt, feeling it clench as he thrusts. God, you are so very close again. He’s going to bring you climax _again_. His face is so flushed that you know he’s close too. Even if he won’t say it. You’re afraid to speak. You don’t want to break the spell. So, you clutch his ass with your legs, claw at his back. Bite his shoulder hard. Your reward is getting fucked royally by that beautiful man, that beast inside of the gentleman. And you crave it. You demand it.

When you both have had enough, when you can no longer hold it back, he explodes inside of you with a force that you haven’t felt before. That beautiful face twisted in his orgasm, his head going backward as his body clenches up. Then falling forward as every muscle relaxes, as whatever it is releases him. Your body tingles. Everywhere. Especially your pussy, the afterglow starting where your clit has been battered by his thrusts. Then, your belly begins to burn, the fire spreading until your entire body is scorched. A fog comes over your senses, your body weightless.

When the fog lifts, you’re lying in his arms, one leg casually laid across his hips. Your arm over his chest. Your skin is lightly sheened with sweat and you shiver from a sudden chill. He pulls the sheet over your shoulders.

“I knew you were a bit of a wild animal,” he mutters with a smile. “I like it.”

You raise up on an elbow, grinning back at him. “Baby, you surprised the shit out of me. I admit it. I never suspected the perfect British gentleman is a nasty boy underneath the surface.”

He gives you a playful slap at your backside, from underneath your arm. “You keep that quiet, okay? Not something the rest of the world needs to know.”

“Not to worry.” You lick his lower lip, then cover his mouth with yours. “I don’t plan on sharing that with anyone. That’s a little something I intend to hold tight to. A little something that’s mine and mine alone.”

“All yours, then.” His eyes flutter closed.

You watch him for a moment, as his chest rises and falls, a little slower and even with each breath. He is beautiful. And so warm. For a moment, there’s a twist in your belly. This will never happen again. He’ll be leaving soon, another location for his movie. And you’ll never see him again. You could have fallen hard for him. It might even be too late right now. You lay your head down again and close your eyes as well.

“I’ve never done that before. Not like this.”

You smile, your eyes still closed. “Never?”

“I like it. I want to do it again.”

“Mmm,” you hum. Your heart flutters in your chest. “You have a standing invitation, baby.”

“And what if I said I want to see you again?”

“You’ll be leaving soon. Are you sure you want to?”

Tom kisses your hair. “I want to.”

“Go to sleep, baby. See how you feel in the morning.” Sleep is tugging at you as well.

“And if I still want to?”

You open your eyes and look up at him. He’s watching you intently. By God, he’s serious. He means it. You stroke his cheek. “And if you still want to. If you still mean it.” You kiss him once more, this one gentle. “I want to see you again too. I…like you.”

“I like you too. Now, go to sleep. We’ll talk more in the morning.” He turns his head, closing his eyes again. Within a minute or two, he is fast asleep. Softly snoring. Still holding on to you.

Smiling, you close your eyes. Resting against him. Will this last beyond the night? Will he want to see you again? You can’t help but hope so. Something in his voice is very sincere. You turn over to your other side and, in his sleep, he turns with you. You fit together well. Maybe. But for now, this is enough.

You fall asleep with him. His warmth, his arms. And something inside you says, his tomorrow. You’ll know soon enough.

 


End file.
